


The Music is Playing On Our Time

by sohox



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohox/pseuds/sohox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The WWE is taking on a new venture with a group of up and coming rock stars. Dean Ambrose catches the eye of a girl on tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Music is Playing On Our Time

**Author's Note:**

> So this will play fast and loose with time lines. This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own. This is the first thing I've ever posted here, so comments and suggestions would be helpful!
> 
> Also, this was basically an excuse for smut, so. Sorry about that.

Dean would never admit this out loud, but this might be one of Vince’s coolest ideas yet. A summer long music festival that followed their road tour of house shows. Every city they stop in will have six bands, playing festival style, leading to that night’s house show. Vince was convinced that they were losing out on the teens and twenties crowd and he was sure this would be a smart way to bring in some new energy. 

They’ll be bringing along six bands, a few pop punk, a few alt rock, basically what you would find at warped tour. Honestly there are only two bands on the roster than Dean had even vaguely heard of, but he’s still excited to have them around. 

It's the night before tour is set to kick off and Dean is hanging out with some of the other guys. They're at a small venue in Philadelphia, and one of the bands that will be on the summer tour is headlining a show there. The lead singer of the band, Soupy, or something like that, is one of Rollins’ friends. There are a few of the other WWE performers at the bar, but Dean’s still feeling a little out of place. 

They're all just sort of stalking around the bar, drinking, relaxing, waiting for the next band to come on. Ambrose, Reigns and Rollins are sitting in the roped off area reserved for the bands, exchanging stories with Soupy, Mike, Matt and some other people from a few other bands, as scantily dressed girls weave in and out of the area, sitting on laps, giving kisses on cheeks. The air in the club is hot and damp with the closeness of bodies and the smell of stale beer, sticky on the floor.

He’s not quite famous, not in this scene, so for the most part people are leaving him alone. But being close to the band has its advantages. Dean has a lovely blonde girl on his lap. She brought him a beer and is playing with the collar of his leather jacket. She’s sweet, and she’s nudging his neck with her nose and giggling, clearly giving him every signal her drunken brain can come up with, but he keeps catching the eye of a girl that keeps disappearing behind the backstage curtain, taking instruments and boxes of merch back and forth from the main floor to the loading bay. She’s small, thin and lanky, but her arms look strong as she lugs around boxes of shirts and vinyl albums, her cheeks flushed with effort. 

When she reappears she catches his eye again, definitely on purpose this time, and there's a coy little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He seriously just wants to push this blonde girl off his lap and find out if merch girl’s hair smells the way it looks, like silken cotton candy, in the lightest shades possible of pastel grey, pink and purple, spilling out of a sloppy bun and caressing the tops of her pale shoulders. 

Finally, blondie stands up, shrieking along with some of the other girls huddled around, declaring that they're going to go sing along with the next band. Dean is still looking toward the back curtain, waiting for mermaid girl to come back out. He finally sees her grabbing a bottle of water from the bartender, then ducking back. He follows her behind the curtain and finds her walking through a dimly lit hallway. There's a line of red light bulbs illuminating their walk, and it's a little bit surreal, making her arms and legs glow pale pink. 

“Hey!” He calls after her, “mermaid-girl!” He hopes his voice doesn't sound as full of want as he thinks it does.

She looks over her shoulder, smirking at him, rounding another corner and disappearing. 

He speeds up and ducks around the same corner, finding an open door to some sort of closet and suddenly she's pressed against him, crowding him back against what feels like a wooden table top. This little...maybe wash closet, is dim with the light of a singular bulb, nearly blown and barely casting a faint glimmer of light around the tiny room. She shuts the door beside them, pushing up as far as she can onto her toes, her chest pressing tightly against his. She’s so small, maybe five foot two or so, that he still has to lean down for her, crushing their lips together in a frenzy. 

He doesn't know her name, and he doesn't have time to wonder if she knows his, it doesn't matter. Their introductions are made through the frantic clash of lips and teeth and tongues. Her arms wrap around the back of his neck, and he’s lifting her, spinning around and placing her on the wooden bench, pushing himself between her legs. His hands are on the outsides of her thighs, pushing his fingertips past the barrier of her dark jean shorts, barely grazing her upper thighs. 

“I think your girlfriend might have a problem with this, don't you?” She says in the breaks of their kiss, both breathing hard.

“You _know_ she’s not my girl. I don't even know her name. I don't know yours either, as a matter of fact.” He growls.

“Good.” Mermaid girl says, pulling her shirt over her head, revealing a thin cotton bra, her chest rising and falling pretty hard. 

Dean’s already pressing hard against the zipper of his jeans, and he’s sure she can feel it. He’s pressing hard against her, too, but he backs up as she pushes at his jacket. “C’mon,” she huffs. “You're wearing too much.” Then he’s out of his jacket and pulling off his black tank, before returning to her lips and muttering “bossy” into her mouth. He can feel her lips curving into a smile, and he’s reaching down to the button of her shorts, popping it open as she lifts her ass and he slides them, and her cotton panties, off and out of the way. She reaches down to give him the same treatment, finding his throbbing cock standing hard between them. Her small hand strokes his shaft, once, twice, then stills. He looks up at her, her face entirely sober, big hazel eyes wide. 

“Are we about to do this, or what?” He asks, cocking his head to the side and flexing so that she can feel his rod jump under her touch. 

“You got anything?”

For a second he’s entirely thrown off guard. Does she mean drugs? Or is she expecting him to pay her? He’s entirely out of his element in this scene. 

She can probably read the confusion on his face, because she strokes him again, tightening her grip a little on the down stroke. “I mean, like a rubber. Do you have a condom?”

“Oh! Right, yeah.” His voice rings gruff with want in his own ears. “Random hookup in a club bathroom or broom closet or whatever. You gotta be safe and all.” he rambles. He reaches back into the pocket of his jeans where they've settled half way down his thighs and pulls out his wallet. He’s got it out and rolling it on as she opens up the front clasp of her bra, letting her small but firm tits out to play. 

He swoops down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, nipping at it as he pushes his cock forward, pressing it against her hot, wet slit. God, he wishes it wasn't so dim in here so he could see her properly. He’s dying to know if her little cunt is as pink as her lips are right now. She tilts her hips forward as she arches her back against his mouth, and suddenly he’s splitting her open, breaching her tightness and they both groan out loud. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pressing his sweaty forehead against the curve of her neck as he slams his hips forward, fully sheathing himself inside of her. He looks up just in time to see the perfect O of her mouth as she takes him all in, big hazel eyes growing round with the feeling. They stay like that for a moment, him trying not to lose it as she flutters around his cock. She’s wet and hot and tight and fuck, this is maybe the hottest thing that's happened to him in ages. 

He pulls his hips back, til he's out of her, rubbing the length of his cock along her slit, stroking her clit with his head. She shudders in his arms, a sheen of sweat blossoming over the long expanse of her torso. He ducks his head, nosing the smooth skin along the valley of her breasts as he continues to stroke her slit with his cock. He's already close, but he’s nowhere near done with her. 

She grabs his hair at the nape of his neck, forcing his eyes up to meet hers. Her pupils are blown wide, lips red and glistening, small puffs of air escaping her hot mouth. Totally unable to hold back, he slams forward, pulling her body against his as he fucks her, hard and fast and desperate. He’s already close to the edge, but, fuck, if he isn't going to take her down with him. He fists one hand into her hair, pulling her to his mouth and kissing her, hot, deep, wet until she’s mewling against him. The other hand slips between them, fingers curling around her hip bone, thumb dropping down to find her wet, swollen nub, caressing it in circles until her whole body jerks and her cunt squeezes his cock like a vice. 

“Yesss,” he demands against her lips. “Fucking come for me. Hard. Fucking come all over my cock.” and she’s fucking clawing at his shoulders, riding the wave over and over. She feels so hot and small and ethereal in this tiny space, he feels his whole body tense, every muscle singing as he explodes along side her. 

Ambrose collapses against her, both breathing ragged, hot breaths against each other’s skin. 

“That…” She starts, but pauses, just pressing her face back into his neck, gathering her breathing again.

“...yeah,” he agrees, his hand still in her hair. He was right, her hair smells sweet. Not cotton candy, exactly, but a soft, sweet, slightly spicy smell. He wishes for a moment that they were in a bed, where he could hold her properly. 

She nods against him once more, then she’s pushing at him, pushing him off and reclasping her bra, looking around for the rest of her clothes. “I have to…” She starts, shyly. It's laughable, after what they just did, that she should be shy. 

“Right” Dean says. He’s putting himself back together as well. “Time to get back to the grind. The bands can't service themselves, right?” 

She gives him a hurt look, not laughing, maybe a little reproachful. That was probably a little mean on his behalf. “Excuse me?”

“I didn't mean…”

“Didn't mean what, exactly?” Her big eyes are scrutinizing him hard, a sharp eyebrow arched high. 

“I didn't mean to imply that you're like...a groupie or anything.” 

“A groupie.”

“Uh…” He’s scrambling now, not sure how to fix it.

She’s finished tying her hair back up. “Whatever. I guess I'll see you around. Gotta get back to _servicing_ the boys.” She yanks the door open, leaving him there as fast as she appeared. 

“Oh...kay.” Dean shakes his head to himself, taking a minute to make sure he’s zipped and tucked back together, no mysterious stains anywhere before heading back down the red-lit hall to the main room of the venue.

“Ambrose, where have you been?” Seth asks, “the second to last band is about to start, then my boys are on!” 

“Yeah,” Dean sits back in their booth, waving over a waitress to bring him a beer. Honestly, after all of that, he’s ready to head back to his hotel room and sleep, but he knows that would be a bitch move. Seth’s friends went through a lot of trouble to show them a good time. 

Twenty minutes later he’s twisting the lid off his second IPA when the lights dim, the next band coming on stage, their opening number filling the speakers hard and fast, with heavy guitar riffs and a strong drum beat. He looks up to the stage, vaguely recognizing the song, and his eyes are drawn to their guitarist, a frenzy of candy colored hair flying everywhere. She throws her head back, whipping her hair out of her face, and he finds his eyes glued to hers, a wry as fuck smile on her face when she spots him. He feels his eyes widen in shock with recognition.

Oops.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you'd like to see a second part! I have a few ideas kicking around.


End file.
